


an (almost) reprise

by nihilego



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, NYC Cast Jake and Jenna, Trans Jeremy Heere, Trans Male Character, one line currently but will show up more, theatre shenanigans, thespian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:39:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilego/pseuds/nihilego
Summary: an au where jeremy has the long standing twelve years of friendship with christine, not michael.this changes a lot of things.





	1. a late summer party's a bad excuse (to put your heart through mad abuse)

The worst part about waking up in the morning is the whole ‘waking up’ part. It's not fair that the universe made getting out a bed so hard—especially if you're fucking blasted from a night of partying. 

Maybe you've never been hungover. Maybe you've never been to a high school party. But you also probably don't have a Jake Dillinger to throw said parties, because no mortal could resist the allure of such Dionysian party. 

But you're also probably not Jeremy Heere, who's got the self control of a toddler and the alcohol tolerance of—well, also of a toddler.

Okay, who could blame him for being so hungover even the thought of sunlight hurts? Jake’s parties are always killer. Like the time freshman year a bunch of seniors tried to sneak in and trash the place but they got distracted by the treasure trove of drinks and weed? Or the time a few months ago Jake straight up fucked a girl on the pool table? (Okay, Jeremy didn't exactly see that one happen, but he did know that some amount of sex happened that night).

The point is, when one of your best friends constantly holds the best parties your little section of New Jersey has ever seen and it's one week away from school starting back—you have to go. No matter how much your bestest friend and your tiny weak conscious says how much of a bad idea it is.

It's not a problem if you get drunk off your ass. It's not a problem if may or may not have had a smoke while you were there.

It's a major problem if you kiss a hot guy you can't remember.

\---

For right now Jeremy is focusing on his other problems.

The twentyish minutes it takes for him to wake up enough plus the five minutes it takes for him to get/stumble/crawl out of bed shows just how hungover he is. Which is bad, because he has a dad. A dad who is not too enthused whenever his only son comes home wasted.

But luckily his dad usually goes to bed at like 10—just around the time the party was getting good (or around when they usually get good; Jeremy’s memory is a little spotty this time). That's one half of the ‘avoiding Dad while drunk’ game they play just about every other week. Sadly the second half depends on whether or not he's out of the house.

Also sadly, Jeremy can't see if their only car is still in the driveway or not from his bedroom window. The view from there is just a few feet of dying grass and then the shitty fence that separates them from their neighbors. So he'll have to sneak out into the hallway, which is already risking discovery.

He tries to check his phone to see the time or if his dad sent a text to tell him if he was going out—but sadly pressing the power button again and again doesn't result in anything.

“Fuck,” Jeremy slurs out, breaking the peaceful quietness of his room. He curses the idiocy of drunk Jeremy for not plugging up the phone while trying to slide in the charging cable himself.

After a few moments of trying and failing, the cable finally goes into his phone. When in finally comes back on, his lock screen is flooded with messages; some from Christine probably wanting to check up on him, Rich probably sending him half-embarrassing half-funny photos from last night, blah blah blah. The point is that there are too many for Jeremy to process right now, so he just tosses his phone on his bed, resolving to deal with the texts when his brain is actually functioning.

Instead, now it’s time for him to try to sneak through the house like that one guy off of Smash Bros (so he doesn’t remember the guys name, it’s not like he’s the video game nerd of the group; that title is claimed by Rich). Stumbling off of the floor—which at some point he decided it was a good idea to lay down on—he eventually makes it to his bedroom door. 

Pressing his ear against the cheap wood reveals that there's no sound coming from out in the hallway, which is a good sign; Jeremy’s Dad is not exactly the quietest person in existence. Finally pushing open the door—how long has he been awake for again?—reveals the completely empty hallway, which luckily has a window that can actually see the driveway.

In his head the trip over to the window was an epic scene, involving sneaking and probably a cool roll across the ground at some point. In reality it was more of an awkward and loud shuffle that resembled a baby giraffe walking for the first time. 

Looking out the window revealed a lawn of more dead grass, a flower box that Dad tried to keep pretty—keyword: _try_ —and a dry, cracked, and very empty driveway. 

Success. Jeremy was alone for likely a few, blissful hours; enough time to shake off the hangover currently hurting his brain.

And also maybe remember who he kissed last night. One problem at a time.

\---  
\---  
\---

Christine is almost constantly concerned about Jeremy.

Maybe because he's her best friend. Maybe because he's been there for her since kindergarten. But most probably because he's got the self–preservation instincts of a lemming.

Right now she's waiting for an update text. Sadly no one really kept up with him during last night’s party—which Christine didn't go to, because _no_ —so she doesn't know how he is right now. Probably still sleeping. Hopefully actually in his bed.

For now she's humming alongside some of her favorite show tunes and trying to make some brunch (it's really just lunch, she's just making breakfast food because it's the best thing on the planet) and waiting for Jeremy to finally tell her that he's alive. Judging by the fact that it's almost twelve now, he should be up soon.

She's hoping he isn't bad enough that she needs to go over there and help him get back on his feet. One time he got so drunk he fell asleep in his clothes and didn't wake up til around two pm; doesn't sound so bad at first, but Jeremy’s binder had been on the whole time, resulting in probably the only time he cursed its existence.

That was the only time he asked her to come over to help him out. She's pretty sure he's needed help other times, but Jeremy has some issues with asking for help. Which leaves her to be pushy and force it on him whenever possible. Because friendship.

She's trying to make a perfect omelette when her phone dings with the text sound specific to Jeremy. Yeah, he teases her for it, because _apparently_ every other teen keeps their phone on silent for, like, until the day they die. But Christine thinks text chimes are fun, just like emoticons and cartoons are _fun._

_  
11:58_

_heere for theatre: yes hello i am alive_

_cooliet: Congrats on waking up before 12!!_

_heere for theatre: shut_

_heere for theatre: your mouth_

_cooliet: Can't this isn't a verbal conversation_

_heere for theatre: >:/_

__

Jeremy doesn't send anything for a couple more minutes, leaving Christine to eat her omelette in relative peace. Either he's stumbled away from his phone for a bit, or he's drifted back to sleep—both are equally likely.

__

_12:08_

_cooliet: Btw are you okay? Jake told me last night was pretty crazy_

_heere for theatre: i am 100% okay_

_heere for theatre: but my brain hurts and i want to die_

_cooliet: Need me to come over???_

_heere for theatre: nah i got it_

_heere for theatre: but uh there may be a problem_

_cooliet: Oh no!!! what is it??_

_heere for theatre: well i met someone at the party_

_cooliet: （；¬＿¬)_

_heere for theatre: don't give me that apparently i liked them enough to make out with them_

_cooliet: Oh boy_

_cooliet: Wait_

_cooliet: Apparently???_

_heere for theatre: see thats the problem_

_heere for theatre: don't remember them at all haha  
_

This boy. This fucking boy. 

__

_cooliet: You weren't like_

_cooliet: You know_

_heere for theatre: oh god no just very very drunk_

_cooliet: Ok good_

_cooliet: Not that you were drunk because I do Not condone that behavior but. Yeah_

_cooliet: But nothing?? You don't remember anything??_

_heere for theatre: well_

__

\---  
\---  
\---

Jeremy doesn't remember why he's panicking exactly. Only that he is.

Maybe it's the pulsing lights. Maybe it's the too loud music that feels like it's trying to overwrite his heartbeat. Maybe it's the crowd of people, all smelling of alcohol, swaying like an ocean to a rhythm Jeremy can't seem to navigate.

Whatever it is, Jeremy wants to be away from it. Somehow he manages to stumble up the stairs—is he drunk? he doesn't remember drinking that much—and lands in a less occupied but still very full hallway. He could go up to the third floor (which still boggles his mind; who the fuck needs a third floor in a house?) but the stairs leading up are occupied by several drunk teens just standing there. Plus Jeremy's legs feel like jelly currently, so no thank you to stairs.

So his places to hide and recuperate in and limited. The first door he opens reveals a closet. A closet with two people inside wrestling with their tongues. Very, very sloppily. Gross.

Next door provides another option that he will probably have to leave after a bit, but makes a good temporary retreat: the bathroom. Really he's only choosing it because of the absence of people making out.

Jeremy and bathrooms are very well acquainted. Not in the way you think—they're little safe havens during stressful times usually. Sure, he can only be in them for a few minutes, but it's a break that Jeremy will take whenever possible.

He doesn't need to piss or anything, so he just sits on the ground and leans against the cold bathtub. Yeah, he can still hear the bass of the loud music pumping throughout the house like blood in a heart, and the sickly taste of alcohol still covers his throat and fills his stomach, but he feels okay. 

He's surfaced, broken away from the rough sea of the party, and now all he needs to do is breathe.

\---  
\---  
\---

“So that's all you remember?”

They've switched to talking on the phone now, but Jeremy’s pretty sure he would be able to detect her disappointment in either speech or text.

“Well I mean,” Jeremy’s fiddling with the packaging of a frozen pizza, leaving his brain to do two activities at once. Frustratingly, the pizza apparently needed six gagillion layers of protective cardboard and plastic, and Jeremy’s incredibly hungry. Plus he's no good at holding his phone between his head and his shoulder, so here's hoping it doesn't fall and get another crack. “I remember other bits but—shit—but they're like…short. Like that's the only long bit.”

“Riiiiiight,” Christine's disapproval has increased. “But you said you kissed someone.”

And he did. Jeremy remembers pressing his lips against another’s, sliding his fingers in someone's hair, pressing against a warm body. Remembers that their mouth tasted of something sweet, probably soda, and of alcohol mixed together. 

“Y–yeah,” Jeremy eventually stammers out. “But like, I don't remember their name or anything.”

“Do you at least remember their face?”

Jeremy searches through his memory, but there's not much. He remembers dark hair. Maybe some glasses. 

“No,” he breathes out, and god his breath still stinks. “No face, no name.”

“The good old anonymous.” Jeremy wouldn't be surprised if Christine is taking notes. Actually—

“Please tell me you're not thinking of finding this dude.”

“...”

“Christine!!”

“What? This is some teenage drama movie stuff Jeremy! Or even better… a _musical_ plot Jeremy.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m already thinking up a screenplay. Now, would you wanna play yourself or do you think someone like Will R—”

“You are not making a musical about a drunken mistake that I made, Christine.”

Jeremy can hear her pout over the phone almost. He feels no guilt. Last week she tried to make a musical based around a dog that met another dog on the internet, except that he was catfished and it turned out to be an actual cat. When Jeremy told her that you couldn't get actual dogs and cats to play the characters and would be stuck with furries, she blocked his number for an hour. 

“Wanna do all or nothing?”

“Please no.”

“We all find this guy for you, and you talk to him _sober_ , and I won't write a musical about this.”

Jeremy groans.

“If you say no then I have to Jeremy. For closure.”

Jeremy runs a hand down his face. Christine has been his friend for twelve years, and that's long enough to know she's not joking. She will do it.

“Fine.” It feels a little bit like a deal with the devil, but Jeremy would be lying if didn't want to find this guy for himself. Even if it's just to thank him for not making it one of the worst parties of Jeremy’s life. But not to kiss him again. Definitely not. 

\---  
\---  
\---

He really needs to replace that poster.

It's edges are missing, because he got it back when he was a dumb kid and thought taping on the front of the poster was the way to go. Plus the band released a much cooler poster last year that he needs to get. And—

Michael groans and falls back against his bed. He's been doing this for hours. Running a monologue in his head about all the things in his room in order to avoid thinking about...that...and he's running out of stuff. Twenty minutes ago he was thinking about how the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling aren't in actual constellations. Ten minutes ago it was how he still had to figure out how to set up the changing colors mode on the string of lights around his room. But now he's thinking about _that_. Last night.

Michael groans and gets up. This sucks. Sucks so much. And it's not fair at all. It's like the world saw that everything was aligned to torture Michael, and decided that's what it wanted to do with it’s time.

He just wanted to go to the party to see what it was like. Not because he's a party animal or anything, he’s never even been to a party like it before—just to see. But he just had to drink enough alcohol to discover why it's called liquid courage. He just had to go into the bathroom at the wrong time.

He just had to make out with Jeremy Heere. Popular kid. Theatre star. Michael’s crush for two years.

Michael's fucked.


	2. summer dreams remembered half right (but oh those summer nights)

Michael remembers just about every moment of that night that he can. 

Even though he was drunk, everything is relatively clear. Maybe because finding his crush break down in a bathroom sobered him up. Maybe because the memory of small hands pressed against his chest and chapped lips messily kissing him is too good to ever forget.

Michael remembers every single detail he knows about Jeremy Heere.

He wonders if Jeremy remembered his name.

\---  
 _  
2:32_

_mythicbitchbaby: heyyyyy chrissie_

_cooliet: Hi Chloe!!_

_mythicbitchbaby: you know how like,,, school starts in two days_

_cooliet: Yep!_

_mythicbitchbaby: and you know how mr tracz assigned that suuuuuuper long summer reading_

_cooliet: I do_

_cooliet: Do you need me to give you the answers for it_

_mythicbitchbaby: maybe so_

_cooliet: Chloe you really need to do this yourself_

_mythicbitchbaby: oh trust me it isnt just me_

_mythicbitchbaby: it might,,,, be all of us who need help_

_cooliet: （πーπ）_

_mythicbitchbaby: cmon chris just come over tonight ill invite everyone and well just copy it real quick and then watch a movie and chill ur pick_

_cooliet: Hmmmm_

_mythicbitchbaby: pleeeeease just bring ur stuff_

_mythicbitchbaby: and also bring jeremy hes so good at english shit_

_mythicbitchbaby: oh and also some snacks_

_cooliet: Chloe._

_mythicbitchbaby: ill pay you back theres just a 711 on ur way_

_mythicbitchbaby: plus ill do ur hair and nails and whatever_

_cooliet: Hm._

_mythicbitchbaby: okay fine_

_mythicbitchbaby: if you and jeremy help us then we'll all_

_mythicbitchbaby: sign up for the play_

_cooliet: !!!_

_cooliet: YES YES YES DEAL_

_mythicbitchbaby: this is a mistake_

__  
\---  
 _  
“Summer days, drifting away,  
To ah, oh, those summer nights”  
_  
The voices of the Grease original cast is muffled through the very shitty speakers of Christine’s car radio. Jeremy tries fiddling with the knobs to see if raising the volume helps, but it just results in ear-piercing static sounds.

“Your car is shitty.” Jeremy states, leaning back into the faux leather passenger seat. Unfortunately the fall weather hasn't kicked in, so his skin is sticking to the seat material constantly. Oh how he misses cold weather and his hoodies and cardigans.

“Says the boy who doesn't even have a car.” Christine quips back. It isn't really true; Jeremy _technically_ shares a car with his Dad, but Mr. Heere always gets the car whenever he needs it. Leading Jeremy to depend on Christine and his other friends to get him around most of the time. Plus the Heere car is as shitty as this one anyway.

Jeremy huffs and turns to look out the window. Just one quick stop in an upcoming gas station to get junk food and they'll be on their way to Chloe's house. Usually he's not okay with going into places and buying things; the thought of people judging him on what he buys and the cashier talking to him makes his brain go into panic mode. But Christine is with him, and he knows that most of the purchases at 7/11 are for junk food and condoms and shit. He's gonna be fine.

“Oh, shit.”

Jeremy looks up, kinda surprised to hear Christine curse. She rarely does it, but once he sees what she's looking at, he understands.

Their local 7/11 only has three spaces to park. All of those are taken up by cars; two trucks, the presumed owners of which Jeremy can see sitting on the sidewalk and smoking, and one old-ish looking Chrysler car.

The fueling stations aren't any more luck. Unfortunately there's only one pump, and both sides are filled by cars who seem to have just gotten there.

Meaning that Christine can't park or stop the car. Meaning that she's going to have to stay in the car in case she has to move. Meaning that Jeremy’s going to have to go in alone.

“Oh Jesus.” Jeremy sighs. He can tell Christine's already figured out the same thing. 

“Jeremy—”

“N-no I can….I can do this.” He really can't, but if he told Christine that it would make her feel bad. She's always been this mothering spirit, which Jeremy’s been thankful for recently, but it leads her to be upset with herself whenever she can't help him.

Christine smiles at him reassuringly. He's certain that in her head that she's equating this to a baby bird leaving its nest. And then grabbing junk food and immediately flying back. He knows that her analogies are weird.

He gets out of the car, and walks towards the store, shaking only slightly. As soon as he gets to the threshold, ready to enter the cooled environment of the 7/11, his palms become irrationally sweaty, and he can feel his arms tremor. 

God, he hates his brain. He can perform a musical in front of a crowd of people, but buying shit in a public place is apparently too much for his brain. Which is absolute bullshit.

He just tries to make as little noise as possible so people don't look at him. Makes sure his sneakers don't squeak against the linoleum, and that the plastic snack backs don't crackle too much when he grabs—

Shit. He got someone's attention. Not outright, but Jeremy _saw_ the little glances the guy in front of the slushie machine was giving him. Knowing that he attracted unwanted attention makes this whole thing so much worse.

Jeremy basically runs to the counter. If he's forgetting any snacks then they're just going to have to deal with it; he doesn't want to be here anymore. Luckily the guy at the counter doesn't try to talk to him. Jeremy’s hands are shaking as he fishes the bills needed to pay out of his wallet, and probably scares the counter dude with how fast he grabs the bags and rushes out.

Whatever. Jeremy rushes out the doors and takes a deep breath of hot summer air that smells of car exhaust and cigarette smoke. He tries not to cough in disgust, and instead half-runs towards the car.

“See? I did it.” Jeremy awkwardly laughs, tossing the bags in the back. Christine looks dubiously at him as he slides into the passenger seat.

“I…okay.” Christine doesn't talk about how he clearly didn't have it, and instead drives out of the 7/11 parking lot.

\---

Chloe’s house is pretty nice.

Behind Jake, Jeremy’s sure her house is the most expensive. Well, Brooke’s might be more pricey, but it's also a big place for Brooke’s fairly large family. Chloe's place is small, but high end; only occupied by her and her mom, and occasionally whatever boyfriend her mom has.

Chloe's mom is out on a date, meaning they have the whole place to themselves. 

“Okay, let’s pick something gorey to watch.”

“Chloe, you said I got to pick the movie!”

Jeremy overhears Chloe and Christine arguing about the movie choice from the kitchen. Fairly certain that it won't dissolve into an actual argument—you can never know with Chloe Valentine—he sets about freeing all the snacks from their plastic bag prisons and depositing them in bowls, ready for consumption.

“Hey, Jeremy!” Jeremy turns around to see Jake and Rich enter the room, each carrying two liters of soda.

Jeremy smiles and waves at them, and then goes back to setting up the snacks. He sees Jake’s hand creep towards the chip bowl, so he smacks it.

“Ow! What gives?” Jake rubs his hand and gives Jeremy his best wounded puppy face. And since this is Jake, literal puppy in human form, it's pretty good.

“I know you will eat half this entire bowl before we even get settled in if I don't stop you.” Jake’s a notorious snack fiend, and shouldn't be trusted around anyone’s food without supervision. “Rich, tell me I’m right.”

“He’s right, Jake.” Rich agrees, pouring himself a glass of soda.

“I am _offended,_ ” Jake says, pouting. “I’m going to go out and see my _real_ friends.”

Jake turns and goes out to talk to the girls, leaving Jeremy alone with Rich.

Sadly, they're both awkward around each other. Jeremy wishes it wasn't like that. He’s pretty sure Rich wishes it wasn't like that either.

“Jeremy?”

Jeremy turns to look at him. He looks unlike how he normally does, like the whole ‘asshole without a care’ facade is gone.

“I was wondering if—” Rich jolts a little, and then picks up his glass and heads out. “Nevermind.”

“I…okay.” Jeremy’s left at a loss for words. Whatever. If Rich wants to be weird and not say shit, then that's his business. Jeremy just gathers the snack bowls and walks out into the living room, ready to spend one last summer night with his friends.

\---

“Oh my god.” Brooke grins at Jeremy from her place on the couch.

“Don't you even dare. ” Jeremy threatens. “Just. Don't.”

After watching the _Heathers_ movie (a compromise between Chloe and Christine), Jeremy’s best friend in the whole wide world revealed what happened to him at last week’s party to their entire friend group. Fun.

“Oh Jeremy, don't be like that!” Christine argues. To prove her point, she reaches over and uses her fingers to pull Jeremy’s frown into a smile. “We’re just gonna help you find your mystery man!”

“I wish to do no such thing.” He gently takes her hands away from his face. “I only agreed to it because I don't want my drunken mistake to become one of your musical ideas.”

“Don't be a bitch baby, Jeremy.” Chloe remarks, not looking up from her phone. “Why don't you just tell us about this guy? If he's a good guy then you can date him, and if he's an asshole we can kick his ass.”

“You can't just...okay.” Arguing that you can't just beat up random assholes is an argument that doesn't work on Chloe.

“Alright, I’m getting a refill,” Rich stands up before the fun begins. Jeremy wishes he could escape too. “You guys have fun with your little boy talk.”

“Okay, so,” Jenna begins once the blond boy is out of the room. “You don't know this guy, right?”

“Nope.” Jeremy pops the p sound. “No name, no grade, could be a girl for all I know.”

“A girl who's bigger than you?” 

“Butches exist.” Thank god Brooke brought this up. Drunk Jeremy would definitely be down to making out with a butch.

“Let’s just go on the assumption that it's a dude.” Jenna states, typing away on her phone. Jeremy knows she's making a list of details. He’s certain of it. “Okay, hair color?”

“Uh, dark? Like, dark brown or black.”

“Eye color?”

Jeremy’s face scrunches up in concentration.

“Uhhhhhhh…”

“‘Uhhh’ isn't an answer, hun.”

“I don't remember, okay?”

Jenna types that away into her phone. He uses the break in questions in order to lay back into a pile of pillows.

“Any other features? Freckles? Moles? Ear piercings?”

“Um, glasses,” Jeremy swipes a hand over his face, as if that'll help him remember. Between the intoxicated state at the party and the time passed from the incident, the memories are barely there anymore. “Maybe some moles on his face? Fuck, I dunno.”

“You are a master of recollection.” Chloe remarks. 

For that, Chloe gets a handful of popcorn tossed in her direction. Sadly, Jeremy only gets a few pieces to hit her.

“And a master thrower.”

“Whatever,” Jeremy groans out. “Can we just get to the point where all of you guys copy my summer reading assignment?”

His question is met with a chorus of agreement, which is good. Jeremy rifles through his backpack to find the needed papers, which he then tosses to his friends like they're frenzied sharks and his assignment is their dinner. Hopefully they won't rip it up.

“Good to see that's over with.” Rich remarks on his way in. Jeremy can't decide if Rich purposefully waited to come back, or if it was just convenient timing. The shorter teen is just so hard to pin down, especially these days. “Now lemme see those answers.”

As Rich joins into the copying fray, Jeremy leans further back into his pile of pillows. He's debating going ahead and sleeping when Christine plops down next to him, having already donated her work to the group.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He doesn't know what he'd do without her. Yeah, she let the whole mystery man thing slip, but Jeremy can't be mad at her. It's almost impossible to be upset with Christine, especially for long periods.

She slowly wraps her hands together, holding his gently. Thoughts of a romance with Christine are thoughts Jeremy’s had before; but, he's fairly certain it wouldn't be any different than the friendship they have now.

Christine is his best friend in the whole world. His absolute favorite person.

\---  
\---  
\---

Michael's brain is _fucked._

Okay, that might be mainly because of the weed. He's stressed, don't judge him.

But also fucking with his brain is what happened at 7/11 earlier that same day.

He was just getting his daily slushie and some snacks in case he got the munchies later, when in walked Jeremy fuckin’ Heere.

In his mind, Jeremy entered like an angel; soft lighting, chorus of angels singing, etcetera etcetera. Michael's pretty sure his heart stopped beating at the sight of him.

His crush decided to start on the opposite end of the store, meaning that Michael could avoid crossing paths with him. He wanted to confront Jeremy, yes, but not then. Michael wanted it to happen when he actually had an idea of what to say.

Good news: Jeremy was looking down, busying himself with trying to find whatever he's looking for. Bad news: he was systematically going down each aisle, meaning the probability of him walking past Michael is high.

As soon as Jeremy was one aisle away, Michael started panicking. He slammed down the level on the slushie machine, begging it to fill up his up before Jeremy made it over to him. It took him a good few seconds to realize that the slushie machine he was trying is out of order, enough time for Jeremy to get to the aisle Michael was on.

“Fuck, fuck,” Michael muttered under his breath, shooting quick glances at Jeremy. He did _not_ want to confront his crush. Instead he slid his cup over to the next pump and pulled down the lever, not even caring what flavor it was. Hopefully if he was doing something, Jeremy wouldn't stop and look at him.

It felt like the world had stopped spinning, those few moments when Jeremy walked past Michael. 

Michael kept looking at him. Tiny glances out of the corner of his eye, yes, but still glances.

Jeremy must have noticed, because he started walking faster down the aisle, clearly to get away from Michael.

It took Michael the time to check out, drive home, and smoke more weed than he should've to finally get his brain working again.

Jeremy Heere entered the store. He saw Michael. Then he proceeded to power walk away.

God, when Michael said he didn't want to confront Jeremy at that point he didn't mean like _that._ He wanted just a neutral reaction; they didn't have to talk, but Jeremy walking away when he knew Michael was looking at him?

That meant that Jeremy remembered him, remembered the night they had together, and regretted it. Didn't want to talk to Michael about it. Probably didn't want to recall it at all. And that hurt.

Michael thought that the night was pretty good. Sure, they did things they probably shouldn't have done—but to be fair, they both were drunk. Maybe he should've tried to not let Jeremy kiss him? Would that make Jeremy not ashamed of him?

Michael can't do anything but smoke more weed, eat his snacks, and ponder what could've been.


	3. sit down sit down sit down sit down (michael's rocking the boat)

Monday comes like the life ruiner it is.

It's the first time Jeremy’s had to wake up before eight for months. But no, here comes school with it’s 7:15 start time, destroying any hope of getting a good amount of sleep.

Somehow he manages to stumble out of bed at an ungodly time, shuffling towards the bathroom to get a shower. Sadly he can't stay under the hot spray of water as long as he wants, both due to school and because his dad will eventually barge into the bathroom, regardless of if Jeremy’s bathing or not.

Right on cue, his dad comes in right as he's stepping out of his shower.

“Good morning!”

“Dad!” Jeremy squeaks, pulling his towel up to cover himself fully. “Learn to knock! And put on some pants _please!”_

“C’mon son, we're both men in this house,” Jeremy’s a little happy at his dad saying that, but it quickly fades as the older man walks to the toilet. “Just pretend we're in the army!”

“Just,” Jeremy groans out, trying not to sound too angry. “Have some pants on when I get home, okay?”

“Ten–hut!”

Jeremy quickly leaves the bathroom, as that is far too much to handle this early on a Monday morning. After getting dressed as quick as he can, he descends the stairs, hoping to find something to eat before he his ride shows up.

One perk of having six friends—those with cars can take you to school, avoiding the need to walk or get on the terrible bus. Jeremy manages to get a piece of toast ready right as his phone dings, probably signifying his ride’s arrival.

“Bye, Dad!” He shouts upstairs, before putting the toast in his mouth and holding it there while he shoves on his shoes and runs out the door.

Right behind his dad’s car, Christine’s is waiting for him. She always picks up Brooke first, so the back seat is Jeremy’s domain.

“Hey, Jerry!” Brooke yells as soon as he opens the back door and slides in.

“How are you like, so peppy.”

“It’s called being a morning person.” The blonde replies, sipping from a coffee cup. “And this coffee. And also being in a house with a bunch of screaming kids.”

Jeremy shudders thinking about that horror. Good thing he's an only child—he could _not_ deal with younger siblings.

Most of the ride is uneventful. Jeremy has to fight to keep his eyes open; maybe he’ll snag a quick nap during lunch or something. Or theatre, Mr. Reyes never gets mad at him (probably because Jeremy is one of the few dudes who actually sign up for theatre for the actual class).

Walking into the building with the two girls is far more eventful. They catch up with a few people that are ‘friends’ but in that kinda way where you never hang out and will probably forget about each other after high school ends. The school has some poor guy out in the school mascot costume, yelling ‘Welcome back, Wombats!’ at anyone who passes by.

“I wonder who’s in there?” Christine questions as all three of them head towards the staircase in order to get to their homerooms.

“Whoever it is, they need to stop.” Brooke deadpans. Which is fair, the mascot guy tried to get her to take a picture with him. Weird.

Jeremy laughs softly, following them through the slog of other students traveling about. One thing he does not like about school—the crowds.

Luckily the girls lead him up the stairs and through the hall without incident (okay, so he may have grabbed one of the straps dangling from Christine’s backpack but he didn't want to lose her, that's all).

Sadly, he has to wave goodbye to them when it's time for homeroom. He only shares that with Rich, purely due to their last names, and him and Rich alone together is...awkward to say the least.

Whatever. He's just gotta get through homeroom and then he'll meet up with Christine next period.

He's gonna survive this year.

\---  
\---  
\---

Michael is not gonna survive this year.

There are many reasons for this. All of them deal with Jeremy, because the universe just had to twist the knife stuck in Michael's back even more.

Not only do they have this whole awkward history now, but they share _two_ classes. And one of them has a seating chart where Jeremy is sitting _one seat in front of him._

In times like this he wonders what his moms would do. Nanay would insist he try small talk with Jeremy, eventually get him to warm up to Michael. Ma would tell him to man up and ask this boy out already.

Michael knows he's going to have to do something _eventually._ Just...not today. Yeah. Maybe tomorrow! Or next week. Yeah, next week would be good! Because then Michael can psyche himself up enough for it, and then wing it like he wings everything.

Next week.

\---

Okay, _next_ week. One week was too early. Next week for sure.

\---

Next Monday. Certainly. Michael will do it next Monday.

\---

Wednesday.

\---

Friday?

Okay, who is Michael kidding. He's just putting this off.

But he just can't find a good time to actually talk to Jeremy. The boy never talks to him in either of their classes, plus Michael feels like their conversation should be held in a more private space.

Last week he saw the brunet at his locker, and thought _maybe_ he could go up to him, but then all his popular friends just appeared out of nowhere and started talking with him.

So, Michael’s stuck. He's gotta think of a solution eventual—

Suddenly the lunch bell rings, signaling the end of his second period. Which is also the class where Jeremy sits in front of him.

Michael stays rigid in his seat until Jeremy’s out of his desk and heading out of the class. He just...doesn't want Jeremy to realize that he’s sitting behind him. Given how the shorter teen reacted at the 7/11 to simply seeing Michael, he doesn't want to risk Jeremy asking for a seat change. Not before Michael gets to actually talk to him.

Once the coast is clear he hops out of his seat and out into the hallway. He could skip the first half of lunch and go get his usual meal of gas station snacks, but today is pizza day in the cafeteria—the one day where the food isn't absolute shit. Plus he can usually get an extra slice from the lunch ladies for free (the good ol’ Mell charm is to thank for that).

“Hey, tall-ass!”

Oh god. Not this.

“Hey, Rich.” Michael would call him shorty, but he needs to determine if Rich is in a punching mood today.

“Yeah, yeah, hey.” Rich hooks an arm around Michael’s neck, jerking him down a little so Michael doesn't seem too tall in comparison. “Hey, you’re a loser right?”

“I’m the loser, you’re the buff guy with half a brain cell, this is how this works.”

Rich’s face scrunches up, and Michael expects a punch any minute now. Instead, the shorter teen pushes him up against a locker.

“Hey!”

“Shut up.” Rich orders. Michael’s face is pressed against the lockers, and he has no idea what Rich is doing until he hears the sound of a marker uncapping.

“Dude, don't write on my backpack.”

“Too late.” He must have the cap in his mouth, because his speech comes out muffled. After few moments of Rich clearly writing something he then releases Michael.

Michael quickly backs up to a safe distance, then flips his backpack around to see what Rich wrote.

“Really? This is what you came up with?”

“Hey, it’s accurate.”

“You wrote ‘GAY’, dude.”

“Which you are,” Rich smirks, stuffing the marker back into his pocket. “Wash that off and you’re dead, understand?”

Michael doesn't get a chance to reply before Rich is sauntering away. He kinda hates that guy. At least he’s not homophobic to the point of beating Michael up just for existing, just has to point it out constantly for some reason. He’s pretty sure Rich’s whole deal is just compensating for a small dick.

He finally makes his way to the cafeteria, hoping to whatever god exists that nothing else notable will happen today.

Of course the universe makes sure something else happens.

\---  
\---  
\---

“Okay, what’s got you so happy?”

Christine is always happy, but that's not the point. She looks extremely thrilled.

“I’m sure you can guess, Jere.”

“Um…” Jeremy racks his brain for an answer. “You got Broadway tickets?”

“Nope.”

“...It’s pizza day?”

“Nope! Because of this!” Christine quickly digs something out of her backpack, then spreads it out on their lunch table. At first all Jeremy can see are the puffy stickers and massive amount of glitter on the poster, but once he registers what the words on it say, his face breaks into a smile.

“P–play rehearsal sign-up! Chris—where—”

“Mr. Reyes took me outta class this morning to work on it, and then he gave it to _me_ to put _up_.”

“Wh–whoa.” It may not seem important, but being entrusted with the sign up poster? Mr. Reyes only lets his best theatre students handle such a ‘sacred item’.

“Yep. And once everybody signs, that bad boy is going straight up on the poster board.”

“Right.” Jeremy quickly digs a pen out of his binder, and signs his name in the second slot on the poster. Christine Canigula and Jeremy Heere, always the first to sign up.

“And also,” Christine grins at him, more evilly than before. “I have something _special_ to get people to sign up.”

“What?”

“We’re making an announcement.”

“Like on the intercom?”

“Nope!” Then she pulls out a cheap looking megaphone from her bag. “With this!”

“Whoa,” A new voice comes from the left of them, and they both look to see Jake standing there. “You’re crazy, Christine.”

“I have a naturally chaotic presence.” Jake laughs at her reply as he sits down with them. Jeremy’s kinda sad the whole dating thing didn't work out between them last year, but they're still cute friends.

“Here,” Jeremy goes to give his pen to Jake. At his confused look, the brunet clarifies. “Remember? Chloe promised you’d all sign up?”

“Right!” Jake snaps and gives Jeremy finger guns like he just made a brilliant observation. Then he takes the pen out of Jeremy’s hand and writes his name down on the poster in his own personal chicken scratch.

“Wow,” Jeremy breathes out. “A poster signed by the one and only Jake Dillinger? This is practically a collector’s item now.”

“Yeah, maybe in a few years.” Jake hands the pen back, then tries to wipe off some of the glitter that got on his sleeve. Now he’s just got a glitter covered sleeve and hand. “You happy over there, Christine?”

Jeremy looks to see Christine punching and kicking the air in excitement. This is normal for her.

“Heck _yeah_ I am!” Christine grunts, kicking her leg up and resting it on the table as if she's stretching. “Three down, four to go!”

To emphasize her point she pounds her fists through the air more. Jenna, Brooke, and Chloe finally come to the table while Christine is still exerting her energy.

“Um…” Jenna looks at Christine concerned. “Is she okay?”

“I! Am! Great! And I’d be even greater if you si–i–i–i–igned!” Christine signsongs the last bit out, then takes the pen from Jeremy and holds it out towards them.

“Ugh,” Chloe scoffs. “I forgot about this dumb thing.”

“Oh c’mon Chloe, it’ll be fun!” Brooke supplies, taking the pen and writing her name down in her fancy cursive.

“But I can't remember _shit_.” She’s doing that thing where she twirls a lock of her hair in her finger. Jeremy once asked her why she does that, and in her terms she does it when she ‘feels a feeling that ain't Gucci.’

“It’ll be fine Chloe!” Christine reassures, still exerting herself like the force of energy she is. “You can get a small part! And you can help do makeup! And hair!”

“Ooo, sign me up for that.” Jenna says, taking the pen from Brooke and signing her name. This causes Christine to start punching the air again. Poor air.

Then they all look at Chloe, who's still twirling her hair and looking pissy.

“No.”

“You promised!”

“Promises were made to be broken.”

“Chlo, give it up.” Brooke states. “Just sign the poster and we can all go through this horrible experience together.”

“Fine!” Chloe angrily grabs the pen and scrawls her name down, then tosses it back on the table. “Full warning, I will be fucking _terrible._ ”

“Great! Thank you!” Christine smiles. “And nowwwww—”

She turns and faces the doors of the cafeteria, as if she's waiting for a dramatic entrance.

“Um.”

“Any minute now!”

Several people walk through the doors, apparently not what Christine was hoping for. Eventually, a special someone finally enters.

“Richard Goranski!”

Rich startles a little, as does probably half the cafeteria, due to Christine’s volume (plus her voice carries like a motherfucker, that probably adds to it).

However, he quickly regains composure and saunters over towards their table, hooking an arm around Jake’s shoulders as soon as he reaches them.

“Suh, dude.”

“Hey, what’s up?” The both of them proceed to do a convoluted handshake that Jeremy can't even follow the steps of.

“Signing up for the play is what’s up!” Christine beams. “Get it? Because you said ‘what's up’ and you sign ‘up’ for the play?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Rich replies, settling into a seat beside Jake and haphazardly tossing his backpack to the floor. “Sadly that’s not in my plans, Chrissie.”

Christine gasps violently, holding the edge of the table as if she might faint.

“Not in _your_ plans?! It's _play rehearsal!!_ ” To emphasize her point, she pushes the poster and pen towards Rich.

“Yeah, and I don’t want to do it.” Rich slides it away, leaning as far back as he can into the cheap plastic chair.

This time Christine truly does faint, albeit a fake one. Jeremy’s watched her practice it enough times to know she can really make it look real. Luckily Jenna catches her and holds her up, although he's sure Christine would have caught herself.

“My own friend...not signing up…” Christine mutters in her best impression of a grieving widow. “The horror...the absolute horror!”

While Jenna gets Christine back in her seat, Jeremy turns to Rich.

“Rich, c’mon.”

Rich pauses for a second, then continues with his refusal.

“Sorry dude, not happening.”

“Just...please?” Jeremy looks straight into Rich’s eyes, hoping to convince him. If he pouts a little too to sell it, that's neither here nor there.

The shorter teen tenses like he’s in pain, but quickly recovers before anyone can even bring it up.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Yes!!” Christine has immediately gone from 0 back to 100. As Rich puts his name down, she cheers wildly.

Jeremy’s happy for her. Yeah, having all of them sign up for the play is really cool, but Jeremy could've lived without it. Christine, however, has been wanting this for years.

“Alright!” Christine continues, taking the poster off the table and handing it to Jeremy.

“Wh—”

“Hold it for me!” Christine says as she gets up on top of the table, turning her megaphone on. “I’m making the announcement, so hold that sucker up like you're Vanna White!”

“Oh god.”

\---  
\---  
\---

Headphones are a godsend. Being able to block out all the noises of the school environment pretty much saves Michael.

Sadly, not even his nice headphones block out the sound of a tiny girl screaming through a megaphone.

**“Hey!! Everybody!”**

Michael slowly takes the headphones off, turning around in his seat to see what the commotion is about. His eyes land on Christine Canigula, standing up on a table with said megaphone. Then his eyes slide to the boy standing on the floor next to her, holding up a poster, and he gulps.

 **“You may be wondering why I’m interrupting your lunch time,”** the short girl yells, voice audible throughout the entire cafeteria. **“Well, I’ll tell you! Play rehearsals are beginning this week and _ **you** _ are going to be signing up!”**

A couple of kids groan, and most of them turn back to their food. Michael almost does the same, but he’s curious.

 **“Well, I guess if you’re not gonna, you’re not gonna be popular,”** Christine continues. **“Because, like, all the cool people are doing it...y’know? Rich Goranski? Chloe Valentine?”**

This causes a minor uproar at their table, but Michael instead focuses on her words. She's got a nice game going—peer pressure people into signing up, equating it with being popular—she’ll probably get some freshmen to fall for it.

“ **Anyway!!** Jeremy hold up the poster,” The last part is said away from the megaphone. Said boy then holds up the poster, looking slightly awkward. **“Here’s the poster! Jeremy and I will be putting it up right after I finish, so sign sign sign!”**

She then hops off the table and runs over to the cafeteria’s cork board, where Jeremy pins the poster up. To the people who are still looking at them, Christine does enthusiastic jazz hands, and Jeremy gives them shaky finger guns.

God Michael loves him.

Which, ultimately, begs the question: should Michael sign up for the play? It would theoretically give him a chance to finally talk to Jeremy. But it could be awkward, and Michael has no idea how anything about theatre actually works.

But it’s time with _Jeremy._

Before his brain can form a conclusion, his hands and legs betray him. He slowly, shakily walks up to the poster, hand grasping a pen held within his hoodie pocket. Traitors.

His eyes read over the various names listed on the poster. Christine, Jeremy, everyone in their group, a couple of people who got to it before Michael, and then nothing. Just a dozen or so empty slots, waiting for Michael’s name.

Can he do this? This could lead to something big. His whole world changing. Finally getting the conversation he deserves. Maybe getting his heart broken. Does he have the—

“Hey, sign already!”

Michael looks behind him startled, seeing a short line of people behind him. He blushes, quickly scribbles down his name, and power walks away.

Only when he’s finally back at his empty lunch table does his brain start working again. He just did that. God, who knows what's going to happen.

Guess he’s gotta wait til play rehearsal to find out.

\---

“C’mon,” Michael says to no one, alone in the empty bathroom. It's ten minutes after school ended; anybody who could leave at the bell already has. “Just come out already.”

There’s probably some sort of irony in hoping ‘GAY’ written in marker will come out, but Michael’s too exhausted to figure it out. Instead, he’s just furiously trying to wash it out.

His moms would be pissed if they saw this. Michael doesn't have anyone at school to defend him, so they step up to the plate anytime Michael gets bullied. Which just leads to him trying to cover it up anytime it happens—the fuss his moms cause is just not worth it most of the time.

“Hey! What the fuck did I tell you?”

The loud banging of a door and then the subsequent yelling surprises Michael, who can recognize the voice without even looking up.

“Seriously, Rich? You’ve already bullied me once today...did you miss me?”

Michael can picture Rich’s glare in his mind. Unexpectedly, the shorter teen doesn't retaliate. Instead he seemingly ignores Michael, and goes over to a urinal. When he finally looks up at Rich, Michael sees that Rich is glaring at him, like imagined. But while peeing.

“You...how are you not looking at your dick while you pee?”

“It’s about confidence.” To emphasize his point, Rich swerves his hips a little. At least he’s in a joking mood.

“Mhm. So...why _do_ you bully me? Are you compensating or?” Michael’s not afraid to ask this question; sure, Rich can get angry and charge at him, but the dude’s got his dick out right now.

“I have my instructions.” Rich says, finishing his piss and zipping his pants back up.

“Instructions? What the hell does th—”

Before Michael can finish his question, Rich starts jerking around wildly, crying out in pain. It looks like he’s having a seizure, and a very painful one at that.

And just like that, it’s over. Rich’s eyes are wild, and he’s still shaking a little, but it’s over.

“Are you uh, okay?”

“Shut up,” Rich says, voice weak. He wipes his brow and pushes some strands of hair out of his face. “You're...you're a loser, right?”

“...Yeah.” Michael answers. It feels a little like swallowing the red pill.

“That’s why you signed up for the play, right? Wanna be popular like us?”

“I—”

“No no, I get it. After all, I was just like you.”

“What?” Michael’s confused; Rich has always been an over-confident ass with a large presence.

“Freshman year. I hadn’t talked...” Rich swallows, obviously trying to find his words. “I didn't have any friends. So, what do I do?”

“Take some steroids and blow up your ego?”

Rich smirks at that, a little sad almost.

“Kinda.”

“...What?”

“Not steroids, though. See, I was an _absolute_ loser. No girls wanted to be near me! Like, my dick got no action dude,” Rich says easily, as if this is a friendly conversation. “Straight up suicidal at some points, but then…”

“Then what, Rich?” Michael’s not really up for this whole suspense bullshit.

“I got a SQUIP.”

“SQUIP? Is that like a sex toy or—”

“No!” Rich yells, pounding his fist against the wall of ceramic tile. “ _It’s_ —it’s a quantum computer. You take it in a little pill, it goes in your bloodstream and plugs right into your brain. And then you’ve got a voice telling you all the things you need to do to get what you want.”

“Well,” Michael, awkwardly replies. “That sounds like a really great sci-fi plot, you should really write a book—”

“ _It's not fake!_ ” The shorter boy shouts. Then he sighs deeply, and runs a hand over his face. “Sorry the uh...my SQUIP likes me being angry! Helps assert my dominance.”

“Wh—”

“Listen, dude,” Rich walks towards him, placing a gentle hand on Michael’s arm. “I only bullied you because my SQUIP told me to. Didn't really want to—but now you can be cool too! Just buy a SQUIP!”

“Okay, even if I did want one,” Michael won't lie, it sounds cool as shit and kinda like a saving grace. “How though?”

“I have some!” The blonde teen beams. He’s so close to Michael that the lankier boy can see the dark green of his eyes. The way the bathroom lights hit them, it looks like little arcs of bright green travel through his irises. “Listen, right after first play rehearsal, you meet me behind the school with $600 dollars.”

“Wow, that sounds like a scam. Or a trap. Do you really want to mug me?”

Rich groans, obviously frustrated with Michael’s snark. Good; it's his only defense.

“Listen. Record it on your phone for all I care. We’ll do it so quickly after rehearsal that if you scream people will hear you!”

“That's reassuring.”

“Just bring the money.” Rich pats Michael’s arm, then heads towards the exit. “Trust me—this shit will change your life!”

Soon, Michael’s alone in the bathroom again. That conversation was...interesting. And very, very tempting. Just one pill and he could get whatever he wanted? Rich made it sound so easy; a couple hundred bucks and Michael could be satisfied with his life. As the various thoughts and worries circle around in Michael’s brain like a building tornado, one pressing idea is at the forefront of his mind.

Rich didn't wash his fucking hands.


	4. if i were a squipped man (yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum)

The hand curling up in his hair is very distracting. It’s keeping loose strands out of his face, tugging a little, but he doesn't mind. Michael’s more focused on the entirety of the body sitting in his lap.

He couldn't tell you all of what's happening right now. All his brain knows is Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy. The entire party has faded away, becoming pure background noise—the only thing in focus is the boy in front of him.

This is what Michael always dreamed of. Okay, not exactly. He could do without the whole both of them being drunk as hell part. Or the packed party scene. Or stumbling across Jeremy when he was probably a good few moments away from breaking down.

Jeremy draws him away from his thoughts by kissing him. He tastes like alcohol and bubblegum, which is weird.

“Why...do you taste like bubblegum?” Jeremy giggles at the question. Downing those drinks after the both of them left the bathroom turned him from anxious mess to a happy, cuddly one.

“Gum!” Jeremy smiles, playing with Michael’s hair. “Gots a lot of gum...I h–hate havin’ uh...stinky breath.”

“Mm.” Michael hums; that makes sense, sober or unsober. Before he can bring up another topic, Jeremy starts kissing him again.

Since he’s slightly less drunk than Jeremy, Michael is being _cautious_. He’s only putting his hands in places he's pretty sure won’t get sober Jeremy mad—shoulders, waist, etc.—nothing too low or riske.

Jeremy, however, apparently throws all inhibition out the window when drunk. He basically sat himself down in Michael’s lap (Michael tried to get him to sit normally, but the shorter boy refused) and started playing with his hair. Occasionally he would put his hands under Michael’s shirt, obviously hinting at another activity they could be doing. Which, no, that’s not happening.

“Do you usually do this?”

“Hm?” Jeremy looks up at him, eyes slightly glazed and face blushed.

“Like...make out with people? At parties?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy slurs out. “But...girlfriends. B–boyfriends. Friendsssss.”

Jeremy laughs after he finishes speaking. Even from afar, Michael has noticed that sometimes he laughs awkwardly after saying something. It's kinda cute.

“So,” Michael begins. “What does that make me?”

“Hot!” Jeremy pronounces it like ‘hawt’. “And nice. But hot. Hot-nice. Mhmm.”

His crush thinks that he’s nice. And hot. God, if that doesn't give Michael a sliver of hope that one day, he could actually have this. Not drunk, restraintless Jeremy—but all of him. The Jeremy he sees at school, the Jeremy he adores on the stage, the Jeremy he dreams of.

“Hey, hey,” Jeremy whispers, breaking the taller boy out of his stupor. “Kiss me.”

Michael kisses him.

\---  
\---  
\---

_2:57_

The glide of pencils and pens across paper would usually be soothing, but currently all they do is annoy. Scribble, scribble, turn the page, whisper to your neighbor, pass a note—all of the various sounds grate on his nerves.

_2:58_

All the margins of his notes are filled now with tiny doodles, most of them vague blobs and shapes. He tried drawing people, but he is in no way an artist. A child could probably draw better than he did, no challenge.

_2:59_

The desk that’s been unofficially claimed by him is worn, even though it’s only been in the school for a few years. Scratched into its surface are both shallow and deep lines, and there’s even an attempt to carve the word ‘fuck’ into the wood. Sadly only the ‘f’ and ‘k’ are distinguishable. You know, it’s funny how if you just take a few moments to observe your surroundings—

_3:00_

Fuck his surroundings, Jeremy’s out.

The final bell ignites a wave of students filling the hallway, all ready to escape this hell hole.

Jeremy thought ahead and already got his stuff ready to go—no need to fight against the crowd in order to get what he needs from his locker—and quickly makes his way down one of the staircases, taking two steps at a time. There is a very specific reason for his rush of excitement, of which he declares to the world once he exits the building.

“Play rehearsal!”

He pauses in his path, waiting. Everyone around him probably think he’s insane, but he’s too pumped to care (at least, care too much). Finally, what he was waiting for echoes back to him.

“Play rehearsal!” Even if Jeremy can't see her, Christine’s voice reaches him, loud and clear.

“Play rehearsal!”

“Play re—hear—sal!!”

They continue this for a few moments until they finally reach each other. It’s almost like their dolphins echolocating each other, or something.

“Christine!”

“Jeremy!” Christine beams at him, then grabs his hand and locks their fingers together. “Let’s go!”

They rush towards the auditorium, ready for the start of one of their most treasured activities in the world.

Christine is the more experienced of the two in theatre. She was born for it. That's not a joke, that's practically true—four months after she was born, her dads’ had her play a baby in a community play. And she killed it. Jeremy has pictures from it saved on his phone, because that's what best friends do. Keep adorable/embarrassing material of the other. He knows she has some stuff on him too.

There’s also the fact that her dads named her after Christine from _Phantom of the Opera_. And yes, she does make sure people know that about her.

“Ah, finally!” Christine breathes out once they enter the auditorium. “It’s been so so long! I’ve missed you Middleborough High auditorium!”

“Chris, we were in here last week.”

“For an assembly! But now we’re here for play rehearsal!” She raises her hands up in the air, like she's taking it all in. Jeremy loves the auditorium too—it's like a little heaven, almost entirely separate from school and home.

He hurries after her, since Christine half-skipped half–barreled down the aisle. While she spends a few seconds attempting to push herself up onto the stage, Jeremy takes the stairs like a normal person.

“Need help?”

“Nope!”

Jeremy waits a few seconds for her, taking the time to scan over the stage. Not much has changed since last year; same squeaky floorboard that they all have to avoid during shows, same heavy velvet curtains, same dusty air—but there's something that has changed.

On the walls that frame the stage, there are dozens of signatures. Whenever a theatre kid graduates, they visit the auditorium one last time and sign their name alongside all the other students who performed and are graduating. The administration is a little pissy about the whole thing, but Mr. Reyes ignores them and continues the tradition.

As Jeremy looks over the new additions, Christine eventually gets up on stage and browses them too.

“One day, Chris,” Jeremy breathes out. “We’re gonna be on this wall and...and you’ll probably be at Juilliard and I’ll be—”

“Also at Juilliard.” Christine finishes, which is not the way Jeremy was gonna finish it himself. “I hope you know I’m not gonna leave you behind just for some school.”

“And I’m not g–gonna let you not go to your dream school just because of me.”

“You gotta stop acting like you won't get in!” Christine rebuttes. This whole conversation began during the summer—they're one year away from being seniors, and the subject of college is quickly becoming more and more important.

“It’s a s-six percent acceptance r–rate.”

“And we're gonna be apart of that six percent!” Christine yells, stretching her arms wide. “You and I are gonna go to Juilliard or whatever other school we want! I’m not gonna leave you to go to community college or whatever! Then you'll be like Mr. Reyes!”

“Wh–what's wrong with Mr. Reyes?”

“Listen. I love that man but his life is sad. Really sad.”

“Who’s life is sad?” A new voice startled them both, and they turn to see Mr. Reyes emerging from the backstage.

“Mr. Reyes! My favorite teacher!” Christine yells. Jeremy’s glad for the interruption—college talk is stressful, and stressful shit brings out his stutter. His stutter that he really tries to keep under control.

“And my favorite two students!” The older man replies. “Well, maybe not _favorite_ –”

Christine gasps, placing a hand against her forehead like she's about to pass out.

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding,” Mr. Reyes chuckles. “I can always count on you two to take part in every production. And to pass out flyers to people coming in.”

At the end of his sentence he holds out two stacks of flyers for the both of them. Jeremy takes one and scans it over; it's a schedule for play rehearsal. All the times are listed on it, and what they'll be doing for each one; basic practice, casting, rehearsing, etc.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Christine boasts, enthusiastically mock saluting and then jumping off the stage to hand out flyers to the few students already entering.

Jeremy shares a look with the teacher, then calmly hops off stage to hand out flyers at the other entrance to the auditorium.

\---  
\---  
\---

Michael can't believe he's doing this.

The Middleborough auditorium has never been intimidating before, even when they were holding an assembly to talk about ‘the evils’ of drug use (it was hilarious—there were fucking sock puppets).

But now he's about to face his crush. They're going to see each other, and Michael has no idea how Jeremy will react. Will he yell? Quietly tell him off? There's no predicting what will happen.

The six hundred dollars in his back pocket isn't helping his anxiousness either.

Instead, the Filipino boy turns on his good vibes playlist and secures his white headphones over his ears. For extra measure, he flips his hood up—better be as unnoticeable as possible until he's ready. All he's gotta do is walk in, take a seat, and sit back without garnering attention. Easy.

“Hi!!”

“Uh...hi,” Not easy. Instead he's gotten Christine Canigula’s attention—and he sincerely hopes that Jeremy didn't tell her about their night together. “Is this where you meet for play rehearsal?”

“Nope! Swim practice!” She smiles and shoves a paper at him. Well, she's joking with him, which is good. He quickly scans over the paper, noting how much play practice will take away from his video game time. But it’s potential Jeremy time, so it's all good.

“So uh...how does one become a...sound person?”

The small girl tilts her head confused.

“Like,” Michael makes some vague hand motions as if that'll get his point across. “The person who does microphones and shit.”

“Oh! You mean tech!” Christine lights up now that Michael’s cleared things up. “We assign that stuff later!”

“How much later?”

“After we have everybody try some scenes and stuff! Don't want anybody not realizing their secret love for theatre!” She ends with a little giggle snort. Do cute people attract other cute people? Because even though Michael is gay as fuck he can tell Christine is cute. Did she gain some of Jeremy’s cuteness through osmosis?

“Oh!” She continues, noticing some other people entering behind Michael. Christine shakes the papers in her hand and gives him an apologetic look. “Gotta hand these out! But my name is Christine and I can answer any questions—but you gotta answer mine first!”

“O...kay?”

“What’s your name?”

“It's…Michael.” The fact that she had to ask means that Jeremy didn't share their interaction with Christine. Or it means that he didn't remember Michael’s name. God, he just wants to put aside this whole guessing game and talk to this boy.

And maybe kiss him some more. One step at a time.

Christine goes to hand out more flyers, leaving Michael alone. He takes his time to look over the auditorium, searching for—there.

Jeremy Heere stands at the other entrance to the auditorium, passing out papers from his own stack. God, he looks beautiful. There's nothing even special about how he looks today—he’s just. Always beautiful.

Michael sinks down into a seat a good distance away from the stage and from any other students. Instead of staring at Jeremy like a stalker, he instead opens an game on his phone, attempting to distract himself from looking at his crush.

It doesn't help at all. He keeps sneaking glances towards the boy—he just can't help it. It's like finding a magnificent piece of art in a museum, and having to tell your brain _not_ to look at it.

God he's a creep, isn't he?

Michael spends the next quarter hour flicking his eyes from his phone, back to Jeremy, back to his phone. Something better happen soon; his battery is about to die, and then Michael will die. Metaphorically.

Thankfully, the drama teacher (Mr. Rays? Mr. Reese?) gets up on stage and gets everyone's attention. Michael misses a few words, but eventually slides his headphones off and tunes in.

“–and I am so _thrilled_ to welcome you all to the wonderful world of theatre!” He pauses for dramatic effect or something. Christine claps enthusiastically, and Jeremy covers his face with his hands. “You already know me from drama class and...the cafeteria...and you may have met my wonderful pupils Jeremy and Christine at the door!”

At this the both of them wave to the crowd of people; Christine more energetic, and Jeremy seemingly embarrassed by the sudden attention. Mr. Whatever-his-name-is only gets the floor back for a few seconds before he's interrupted by the main door slamming open.

“Hey-oh!” The loud voice of Jake Dillinger sounds throughout the auditorium. Michael turns to see him followed by the entire gaggle of popular kids—including Rich.

“Ah, the popular students! So glad you could make it!”

Apparently they matter more than all the other people here. Michael hates that about high school—the more asshole-ish you are, the more popular you are. It's bullshit.

They march their way down the aisle; Rich gives Michael a wink when he passes by, and he has to refuse to give the smaller boy the finger.

He watches them eventually make their way to the stage, and hop up on the ledge to sit with Christine and Jeremy.

“Right! Well, all of you may peruse your flyers to see what we will be doing this fall! Now, before we all begin flailing our way through the magic of theatre, I’d like my two pupils to show you how it's done!”

The two said pupils look at Mr. Theatre Guy in surprise, then turn to each other. Michael can pinpoint the exact moment that their surprise turns to excitement.

Christine and Jeremy stand up and have a little discussion, probably to decide what they're going to do. They agree in short time, and while Christine goes to stand in the center of the stage, Jeremy digs something out of his bag. Michael has to squint to see what it is and—oh sweet god.

It's a hairpin. Michael’s kinda wondered about that—Jeremy’s hair is long enough that it probably falls in his face a lot. And apparently he wears a hairpin to prevent that.

And it's fucking adorable.

Jeremy’s curls messily pinned up are easily the cutest thing Michael’s ever seen. He's so entranced by the image that he totally misses them starting the scene—when he finally focuses back he registers it as some Shakespeare shit or something.

The two thespians’ words ring easily throughout the auditorium and through Michael’s ears, flowing like a gentle river.

It brings him back to the first time he ever saw Jeremy perform. Back in freshman year, his moms dragged him to the school’s production of _The Little Mermaid_. He thought he’d be bored out of his mind, but then Michael saw _him_.

Michael’s never really been a Disney guy, and even then he’d always thought Li Shang was far hotter than Prince Eric—but seeing Jeremy play him? Changed Michael’s opinion instantly.

Jeremy wasn't even supposed to be in that role; he substituted for a senior who got sick or some shit. It was, like, fate that began Michael’s big embarrassing crush.

It must've been fate that he went to that party too, then.

Before Michael can even notice, people are clapping—apparently they finished the scene already. Michael either really needs a nap or just needs to learn how to focus (on something _other_ than Jeremy). It must be break or something, because the two thespians get off stage and go to talk to other people. The brunet boy goes to talk to his popular friends, while Christine is walking in a different direction, towards—oh no.

“Hi again Michael!”

“Hi,” Michael states blandly. Maybe she’ll go away if he sounds uninterested? He can't really get away since he's trapped in a seat.

“Soooooooooo...how'd you like the performance?”

“It was...good?”

“Good!” She sits herself down in the seat in front of him, but still turned backwards as to sit look at him. “So...thinkin’ about being a theatre kid?”

“Um,” Michael doesn't know how to deal with this. Usually people only talk to him when they're doing a group project in class or they're bullying him. “I think I’ll stick with the tech stuff. Or whatever it's called.”

“Okay!” Christine responds, getting out of her seat as quickly as she sat in it. “Just let me know if you need anything else!”

“Wait!” What is Michael doing. He should not do this. This is a terrible idea, and his brain should stop immediately. But Christine is looking at him expectantly now, so he has to.

“Did uh...has Jeremy said anything about...y’know…”

“Um.” Her face scrunches up, as if trying to decode his words.

“Did he tell you about...us. Me and him?” God, he should just get out of his seat and run out. This conversation is _awful_.

“Tell me what?” She tilts her head confused.

“The…” Michael swallows. Guess it’s now or never. “The party. Did he tell you about what happened at the party? Between me and him?”

Christine's eyes light up, and Michael can tell she's probably a millisecond away from breaking into song. Do theatre kids do that? She seems like she would.

Luckily she keeps herself composed, although she does hide a thrilled grin behind her hands.

“You!” She yells, and then lowers her voice to a whisper (Michael notes that Christine-whisper is not exactly as quiet as normal-people-whisper). “You're the guy he kissed?”

“Yeah.” Michael can feel his blush rising, and he fights the urge to tug his hood back up and pull the strings until his face is no longer visible.

“Oh my god.” Christine breathes out, flapping her hands excitedly. “You! You're the guy!”

“Mm.”

“Come on!” She grabs his wrist, and attempts to drag him out of his chair. “I’ll go introduce you! Re-introduce you!”

“No no no,” Michael takes his hand back. “Not. Not here. Too many…”

“People?”

“Yeah.”

“I get it.” Her smile is softer now, containing less of the chaotic energy she’s known for. “But! I’ll—”

“Christine!” A voice calls from closer to the stage, and they turn to see that Jeremy was the one who yelled. Once the brunet boy sees who she's talking to, he blushes and quickly turns away from the two of them.

“Sorry, gotta go!” Christine says to Michael. Michael doesn't want her to leave—they need to talk about what the hell is happening more. “See you later!”

She runs down the aisle, leaving as quickly as she came. Michael is very afraid—Christine feels like the type to organize some big, romantic meet-cute.

\---  
\---  
\---

“What’d you need me for?”

“Well, uh,” Jeremy mumbles out. “Brooke wanted to tell you something but…”

“But what, my dear Jeremy?” Christine wraps her arms around his neck, bringing her face close to his.

“Why were you talking to that hot guy?”

“Hot guy huh?” She grins; Jeremy has a feeling that there's something she knows that he doesn't. “Want me to get his number for you?”

“N–no! Besides, we still gotta find the guy that I kissed, remember?”

“Oh I remember! But do know that this mystery guy plot line is getting even better...I can already envision the musical now!”

“Which w-won’t be happening.” Jeremy grumbles. His face his flushed, probably out of embarrassment.

“Yeah...I have a good feeling you’ll find this dude after all.”

\---  
\---  
\---

Michael manages to pay attention to the rest of play rehearsal. After the break, Mr. Still-Don’t-Know-His-Name randomly picks out people to perform from some sample scripts. Thank god Michael isn't chosen, because the performances are...not that great, to put it gently. Brooke Lohst goes up and puts too much accent on every other syllable, and Jake Dillinger has to redo every line two or three times. Michael wishes Rich went up there, so he could record some sweet, sweet blackmail material.

But soon enough play rehearsal is over. As soon as the teacher dismisses all of them, Rich pushes himself off of the stage ledge; he sends a look towards Michael, then exits the auditorium through the lesser used exit.

Goddamnit. Michael rushes after him as quickly as he can, getting to the door before it can fully close. If anybody saw this, they make take Rich’s look and Michael’s eagerness as implication that they were about to get frisky behind the school. But thankfully this isn't some shitty fanfic written by a teenager on the internet. This is real life; no shady behind-the-auditorium fucking here.

“Glad you could make it.” Rich is already leaning against the brick wall of the school. Michael can hear people off in the distance; guess Rich was right about the screaming for help thing.

“Could you try looking anymore like a villain?”

“Oh haha, very funny Mell.” Rich pushes himself off of the wall, and opens his backpack to take out a…

“A shoe box?”

“Not just any shoe box!” Rich grins. God, his eyes are so green it's almost unnatural. His almost maniac smile isn't helping either.

He opens the box to reveal several pills laying inside. Michael does a quick count–there's about two dozen or so laying inside.

“These are the SQUIPs?”

“Yep.” His eyes almost _glow_ green; either the sun is creating some weird lighting tricks or Rich has got some of those anime-ass contacts.

“So…” Michael looks deeper into the box. They just look like wintergreen tic tacs, or maybe sugar pills, but Michael feels like they're not. Like, something deep in his gut is telling them that these are _real_ , and that they're powerful. If what Rich said about them was true, then they are.

“These will help me get with Jeremy?”

There's silence for a good few moments. Michael looks at Rich’s face, and the shorter teen looks like he's having to process that statement.

“Jeremy? You want to get with _Jeremy_?”

“Well, yeah,” Michael can't tell what emotion Rich is experiencing right now. “We uh, we kissed at a party, and I’ve had a crush on him for years, and—”

Rich slams the cardboard box closed, with enough force that it even startles Michael. The blonde boy has a look of absolute malice on his face, but Rich surprises him again when, in a handful of seconds, the boy starts laughing.

“What? What’s funny?”

“Sorry man,” Rich says between chuckles. “Deal’s off.”

“What? Rich, what the fuck?”

He doesn't answer, instead shoving the shoebox back into his backpack, slinging it back over his shoulder, and striding away, leaving Michael completely alone.

**Author's Note:**

> hi rebooting this fic hopefully i'll finish it this time
> 
> any comments/kudos/feedback are really appreciated!!
> 
> anyway find me on tumblr/insta as arieryn


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